“That was me getting a slot on Good Morning Ladies with Joanna Carpenter.”
At the name of the infamous breakfast chat show, his jaw dropped. “What?”
“What?”
He scowled at her faux-innocent expression. “Joanna Carpenter? The Joanna Carpenter?”
“Yep.” She lifted her hips and slid her phone into her back pocket. For once, even the way her thighs flexed wasn’t enough to distract him. Much.
“You’re going to be a guest on Good Morning Ladies?”
“Yes.” She gave him a winning smile. It was the fakest expression he’d ever seen on her face, but if you didn’t know her, it would look pretty.
Very pretty.
“I’m going to disclose my harrowing ordeal and win middle Britain’s hearts and minds,” she said cheerfully.
After a pause in which he grappled with his pure astonishment, James choked out, “When?”
“Three days.”
“How?”
She smirked as if she’d been waiting for him to ask. “Persuasion. It’s all fake, feel-good bullshit, but that’s okay. They exploit me and my story, I get public support and short-term hyper-visibility, AKA relative safety, in return. Who needs police when you’ve got paps?”
“So the… the crying was part of the persuasion?”
“The almost-crying,” she corrected. “But not quite, because I’m so very brave and composed.” At his baffled expression, she sighed and broke things down. “I know what these people value in a woman. Fragility is currency, but I’m not pale enough to be permitted too much delicacy.”
He grimaced. “How do you know this stuff?!”
“Life. Also, you think I twiddled my thumbs throughout my journalism degree or something?” God, she looked so smug. He loved it.
“Lots of people have journalism degrees, Cupcake. I don’t see them popping up on morning television whenever they like.”
She rolled her eyes. “Maybe because those people don’t also have years of social media expertise, a solid platform, and a story that’ll make the average Joe feel better about himself for doing the bare minimum in the fight for equality.”
Why did he enjoy it so much when she went into professional, capable mode? Well, he knew why—because capable women turned him on, and Nina was the queen of capable. But understanding his weaknesses didn’t make them any less inappropriate. He was supposed to be supporting her here, like a friend, not drooling over her.
“You think it’ll help?” he asked.
“I know it will. Visibility can be dangerous, but the right kind of visibility is like a shield.”
“Alright then,” James murmured, nodding slowly as he absorbed everything. “In that case… I guess we should celebrate tonight.”
Her tongue snaked out to wet her lower lip, a smooth glide over lush, wet skin. For a moment, he wondered if she was reading something into his suggestion—something more interesting than a takeaway.
But then she smiled and said, “Dinner’s on you.”
4
They had Thai food because gang jay was her favourite veggie curry. James ordered everything she liked, including two lots of chips so she didn’t have to share. Nina was trying really, really hard not to love him, but come on. Two lots of chips?!
And then, to top it all off, he pulled up Buffy on Netflix.
“Seriously?” she asked, her excitement bubbling out in the form of a smile. “Even though you think Angel’s a creep?”
“Even though I think Angel’s a creep,” he agreed. “And even though someone needs to call Social Services on Buffy’s mother. This is your night, Cupcake.” And she was so thoroughly content, she couldn’t even scowl at him for calling her that.
It had started as a joke between he and Mark.
“Damn, your little sister’s a ray of sunshine.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s Nina: a marshmallow in human form.”
“A walking, talking cupcake.”
The punchline, of course, was her permanent scowl, pessimistic outlook, and love of the colour black.
But James always said it with such soul-deep fondness, she never felt like he was making fun of her. The moniker only annoyed her these days because it felt like a reminder to the both of them: This can’t happen. You’re off-limits. You’re my Cupcake.
Well, he’d certainly eaten her like one. She glanced over at him with a smirk. If James could read her mind, he’d probably spend most of his time in a horror-shock coma.
They started with episode one, because she was in that kind of mood. Before long the room had fallen into darkness and they had fallen into silence. Usually, this would be perfect. Usually, she’d love watching Buffy being stalked by night creatures and stalking them right back.
Usually, she wasn’t constantly trying to shove death threats out of her mind.
They were in the middle of the second episode when her nerves finally got the better of her. She shouldn’t have said anything. It was silly. It was weak.
The words tumbled out anyway.
“What if someone hurts me?”
There was a pause, as if James were processing that question. She could feel his presence right beside her, but couldn’t bring herself to focus on it. Still, she sensed his movement as he leaned forward to stop the TV.
Then he said, his deep voice warm and comforting, “No-one’s hurting you, love. I’ve got you.”
She turned towards him, wishing she could accept his reassurance but knowing she’d never been that kind of person. “You’re not a superhero,” she said flatly. “And you can’t keep evil people under control through sheer force of will.”
He seemed to harden at the words, closing his eyes for a breath. Then he opened them again, and suddenly his expression was so… raw, so honest, it almost hurt to look at. “If anyone touches you, I will kill them.” He said it the same way he said everything: quietly, steadily, certainly. She couldn’t imagine James harming anyone—he was just too… good. Everything about him was good. But at that moment, for some reason, she believed him.
“I don’t understand you,” she admitted quietly, the words squeezing at her own heart. She hated it, but it was true. Nina wanted to understand everything—that was why she’d started the website that got her into this mess. She wanted to know how this country worked, and when she’d figured it out, she’d wanted everyone else to know too. Now she was an expert on EU subsidies and misleading rhetoric. She could tell you how many deaths had been caused by Tory austerity so far and she could recommend books that would explain the sociological biases that allowed those deaths to happen.
But she couldn’t grasp why James was the way he was—how he could touch her so gently one minute and flinch away the next, how he could push her away but swear he’d kill for her. An explanation was starting to assert itself—truthfully, had been nudging at her brain for a while. But it was just too fairytale-like to be believed. This was real life. The man she loved didn’t secretly adore her. Friendship plus sexual chemistry plus the indescribable energy that whirled between them did not necessarily equal romance. People, she reminded herself, could be platonic soulmates.
But platonic soulmates didn’t accidentally make each other come. Did they? Maybe they did. She didn’t know much about the whole thing. She’d Google it.
“What’s there to understand?” he asked. “You know how much I care about you.”
That much was true, at least. If there were secrets or misunderstandings between them, it probably wasn’t James’s fault; he’d never been quite as closed off as she was, not emotionally. His restraint didn’t stop him from reaching out to her again and again, whenever she needed it. But she couldn’t say the same. “I know. Do you know what you mean to me?”
“You could tell me.” He leaned towards her, and she was struck by the power of his body, the amount of space he took up. He was a big guy, which she liked. Sure, he was strong, but his muscles were hidden beneath a layer of sheer bulk, from his thick thighs
to the curve of his belly. She was filled with the inappropriate urge to run her hands over his body, to kiss the soft and comforting parts of him and luxuriate in the hard ones.
He caught her hand, squeezed gently, and Nina remembered that they were actually having a serious conversation. Maybe he was right about her relationship issues. She was trying to do meaningful, emotional shit here, but she couldn’t stop thinking about feeling him up. That wasn’t exactly romantic—not that she was trying to romance him.
Does it matter if the way you love is all wrapped up in sex? You love sex. You want sex. You love him. You want him.
It was a moot point, really, since he wasn’t interested.
“I adore you,” she said, the words foreign and stiff, squeezed awkwardly from her throat as if she’d forced squares through a circular hole.
He smiled, slow and—though he probably didn’t realise it—sexy as hell. “Do you, now?”
“Oh, fuck off.” She rolled her eyes and turned away.
“No, no, keep going.”
“I have nothing else to say,” she sniffed.
“Liar.” He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his arms. It had been a familiar move, at one point, but as this weird tension between them had grown, they’d lost the tactile element of their friendship. Every touch between them, once casual, now felt charged—or at least, it did to Nina.
And apparently to James too. Because, as she settled on his lap, the smile slid off of his face. It was replaced by an expression that was mostly uncertain, but partly… something darker. Something hot and secretive and guilty. The way his soft mouth hardened, the fire burning in his eyes, the tension in his muscles: it all reminded her of the way he’d looked when he’d settled between her thighs. On his knees. Worshipping her.
He wanted you. He did. He didn’t fake any of that. He couldn’t have.
But what did it mean? If James didn’t do casual sex—which he never had—but he’d fallen to his knees before her and dragged off her clothes and buried his face in her cunt, what did that mean?
He wrapped his arms around her and her mind raced. His breath ghosted over her shoulder as he said gruffly, “I think you need a hug.”
Right. That was all. Except he was full of shit and she was only just starting to realise. “Aside from yesterday, I haven’t hugged anyone in a while,” Nina admitted.
He pulled back slightly, his gaze an odd mixture of tenderness and outrage. “Why the hell not?”
His indignation was strong enough to draw an actual laugh from her. “I don’t know. Would you like me to send out an email questionnaire?”
He snorted, his full lips curving into a smile. He had an amazing mouth. If he kissed her—
He’s not going to kiss you.
But if she kissed him, he might allow it. She kept replaying what he’d said yesterday in her mind, kept seeing gaps and ambiguities and wondering if she should’ve told him the truth. If she should’ve told him she loved him, wanted him for keeps. And she couldn’t stop herself from thinking the same thing, over and over again—if she kissed him, he might allow it. He might.
Clearing her throat, she said, “You should be blaming yourself. You’re the most huggable person I know, and I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
To her relief, he didn’t take the playful accusation seriously. Instead he smiled, his hands settling at her hips. “Huggable? Is that what they call guys like me these days?”
“Maybe.” She tried to ignore the sensation spiralling from his touch. It proved surprisingly difficult. It wasn’t as if he’d just grabbed her tits, for Christ’s sake—and yet his big hands resting on her hips felt unbearably erotic. If they were naked like this, he’d be gripping her tight and pushing her down onto his cock.
She swallowed, shoving the thought away. “‘Bear’ would probably fit, too.”
He arched a brow. “Which means...?”
“You really don’t know?”
“I’m a lot older than you,” he sighed. “I don’t know all this slang shit.”
“First of all, six-and-a-half years is not a lot. Jesus, you’re so dramatic.”
“And second of all?” His smile was a blatant tease.
There was no bloody second of all. With as much dignity as she could manage, Nina sniffed, “Some things are said purely for dramatic effect, you know.”
He laughed, and in that moment he was so achingly beautiful that the force of her need almost broke her. She put a hand to his face, unable to stop herself, hypnotised by the sight of his joy—the curve of his full lips, the freedom in his smile, the lines cradling his dark eyes. He calmed slowly, his laughter fading until something white-hot and electric and brutally restrained was left behind.
She traced a shaking thumb over his lower lip and let her most secret of questions escape on a whisper. “Why don’t you trust me, James?”
“I trust you completely.” She felt his answer as much as she heard it, his breath ghosting over her hand.
“But you think I’d hurt you?” she asked softly. “You don’t think I know what you need?”
Shock flitted through his gaze. He took a deep breath, his chest rising visibly. “You… you should go to bed.” But his voice caught. And the words were jagged, harsh. And his eyes burned. And she knew for sure now.
So she smiled. “Alright.”
He relaxed, because he thought he’d gotten away with it. He thought she hadn’t noticed that, in spite of everything, he wanted her. That he cared for her. That she wasn’t the only one in the room wishing hard for something she might never have.
We could both get what we want, James. And I will make sure that we do.
A flash of fear gripped her for a moment, doubt rearing its ugly head. She was just making assumptions. She was just seeing what she wanted to see. She couldn’t possibly know, based on a whole lot of clue-tinted nothing, that he had feelings for her—that he wanted more of the heat swirling between them, plus all of the tenderness.
But she did know. She felt it in her chest. And if there was one thing Nina could always trust, it was her instincts.
“I’ll go to bed,” she said, sliding off his lap, “if you’ll come with me.”
He stiffened. “Sweetheart. No.”
She stood with a shrug. “That’s fine. I’ll just keep asking.”
Despite the worry in his dark eyes, he teased, “That doesn’t sound like you. You don’t usually repeat yourself.”
“I also don’t chase men,” she agreed. “But you’re different, Jamie. Didn’t you know?”
His eyes widened for a second and his jaw all but dropped. Then he stood and put an arm around her waist, pulling her close. His fingers slid over her throat in a possessive hold she’d never felt from him before—but he’d come close, she remembered; often, he’d come close. He was always holding onto her in a thousand little ways, touching her more firmly than a friend might.
And she’d missed every signal. Or maybe he’d just hidden them well beneath that calm, reasonable façade.
“Nina,” he said, his voice low and rough. “What are you trying to do here?”
“You don’t do casual,” she murmured, conscious of his thumb stroking over her pulse. “And I don’t want casual with you. James… I’d never risk our friendship for something I could get anywhere else. You should know that.”
He closed his eyes, a frown creasing his brow, and took a deep breath. “Are you sure about this?”
“I might repeat myself for you, since you’re my favourite person, but I don’t enjoy it,” she said dryly. “Try and take me at my word.”
He huffed out a laugh, amusement lifting his expression. Still, he sounded achingly serious as he said, “Nina. Please tell me you mean it. Because if I get my hands on you again, sweetheart… letting go won’t be easy, let’s put it that way.”
He couldn’t possibly know how those words lit her up inside, how they sent an answering dart of possessiveness through her. “Good,” she said.
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He opened his eyes. Their gazes clashed, his golden-brown to her near-black. And then the lust between them, an electrical current dancing just beneath the surface of every interaction, surged to life.
James kissed her. He kissed her, and it was everything.
5
How had he ever denied himself this?
Nina was explosive in his arms, her lips soft and sweet against his, her taste utterly intoxicating. James couldn’t think beyond the sensation of her tongue teasing his mouth, her hands grabbing at his shirt, her lush body pressed against his. But somehow, he maintained enough awareness to decide that he was not about to love her on this fucking sofa again. This time, he’d have her in a bed. And this time, he wouldn’t stop.
She wanted him. She wanted him, truly and completely, and he knew her well enough to realise that she wouldn’t break his heart—not on purpose, anyway. If she was asking for this, she meant it. And if she meant it, he could take the risk. He could hold on tight to everything he’d ever wanted without feeling a scrap of guilt. James swept Nina up into his arms, laughing when she squeaked into his mouth, and carried her to the bedroom so fast, he barely remembered the journey. All at once she was lying in his bed, where she belonged, and he was sliding between her thighs where he belonged, and their lips met again, and heaven came down to earth just for them.
“Take this off,” she panted, pulling at his shirt.
“Take these off,” he countered, dragging down her pyjamas.
“Stop, stop, stop.” She laughed and pushed him up into a sitting position. “Get up. Get naked. Find a condom.”
He stood and dragged his shirt off over his head. “While we’re giving out orders, you should get naked too.”
“On it.” She was already kicking off her pyjamas. He paused for a moment, mesmerised by the movement of her soft, lush thighs, and then she parted her legs and he saw the wetness darkening her underwear.
He gave a hoarse groan, his head falling back. “Nina. Baby.”
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